Ice-Cold Roses
by Mandy of the Amoeba
Summary: PG for angst. I FINALLY got around to chaptering this. A mostly-Hermione fic, at least at first. Quick note; if you like this, read Sobs of a Stoic, Running from the Rain, and Memory of Home. You CAN read Being Alive before this, but it's not required.
1. Ice-Cold Roses

A/N: Part of this fic will make more sense if you go read my song-fic "Being Alive" first......it explains why McGonagall says what she does. But, you can understand the fic even if you don't read it. Oh, and I don't own anything.  
  
  
  
  
"Best friends." Hermione thought bitterly, blindly slamming her books down on the table in the empty common room, her vision blurred with tears. "Yeah, right."  
  
It had come out of the blue for her. Maybe this was something they had been angry about for a long time, but she had never seen it coming. Deep down, she knew they both had a valid point. Ron had finally become fed up with her brains and stubbornness, so, after several arguments, he now flat-out refused to talk to her. Harry quickly followed suit; he had become withdrawn and angry ever since his last encounter with Voldemort, and Ron's feud with Hermione had provided him with an outlet for his bitterness. She knew they were angry.....but what ever happened to 'forgive and forget'?  
  
Curling up in an armchair by the window, she pulled the nearest book into her lap, angrily wiping away the hot tears that spilled down her cheeks. She wrenched the book open, staring blankly at the pages for a full five minutes before realizing she held it upside down. She pushed the book aside in frustration, then picked up another book, one that had been there when she came in.  
  
It was a simple notebook, single subject, wire bound, with a worn blue cover. The three of them shared it. In it, they wrote notes, stories, jokes, drew pictures, just jotted down whatever came to mind. Hermione began flipping through it, rereading all the things they had shared over the years, until she came to a particular page. Upon seeing what was on it, her blood ran cold, and her hands began to shake.   
  
It was a drawing, just a simple drawing of a rose that she had done earlier the same year. Ron and Harry had both commented on how good it was, and how they never knew she was so talented. It was the best thing she'd ever drawn, beautiful in it's natural simplicity. And now it was ripped apart. Still attached to the notebook, a large chunk had been taken out of one of the corners, and the page was crinkled as though someone had tried balling it up. As though someone had tried to ruin it on purpose.  
  
Her face crumpled, and she bowed her head onto the notebook, giving in to sobs.  
  
Why them? The two people she had grown to trust and love so much over the years....they were like brothers to her. Well, maybe she felt something stronger for Ron....but what did any of that matter now? Neither of them would even acknowledge her presence; they wanted nothing to do with her. She had tried talking, had tried apologizing, had begged, pleaded, screamed to be forgiven so life could return to normal. Each time, they refused. She saw them laughing together in the halls and during lunch, excluding her and most of her friends.   
  
Friends. Sure, she had other friends besides them. For instance, Ginny was like her little sister. But other than the little redhead, Hermione didn't have any other close friends. True friends. Harry and Ron....they were her confidants, her partners. But now....  
  
Every thought brought a fresh wave of sobs, and she became so caught up in her tears that she didn't hear the portrait hole open. A hand was placed on her shoulder, causing her to look up quickly, automatically wiping the tears from her face.   
  
Professor McGonagall stood before her, frowning sympathetically. "I take it things haven't improved much between you and you're friends."  
  
Hermione sniffled quickly as she tried to rid her face of tears, furious at herself for allowing someone to see her cry. "How did you know about that?" she asked, trying to keep her voice as steady and emotionless as possible.  
  
Minerva smiled down at her sadly. "I know a lot more than you may think about what goes on around here." She paused, then added wryly, "You'd be surprised how easy it is to observe the social structures that students form when you're watching their lives every day."  
  
With her composure almost completely regained, Hermione sat up straighter and asked, quite professionally, "Was there anything in particular you wanted to see me about, Professor?"  
  
There was another pause, then, "No. No, I don't suppose there was." McGonagall straightened, and turned to go. She stopped at the door and glanced over her shoulder. "Don't let them go, Hermione. I know they're being cruel to you now, but if they really are your friends, they'll come to their senses. And believe me, if you give up on them too soon....you'll regret it. Life without friendship isn't a life worth living."   
  
The words were said without emotion, but as her teacher turned to leave, Hermione saw a tear glinting on her cheek.  
  
With a sigh, Hermione looked out the window at the gray sky above Hogwarts. "And rain will make the flowers grow." she whispered to herself.  
  
  
  
A/N: Yes. I know that was crappy. But please, don't flame this one. If you'd like, go flame some of my other fics. Just not this one. This was written for....for venting purposes. If you liked it, by all means review......if you don't like it, I'd rather not hear. Thank you.


	2. The Warmth Found in Tears

  
A/N: Well, several people seemed to want a sequel to Ice-Cold Roses, and to tell the truth, I wanted to write one. So, here 'tis! :) Just don't ask me where the title came from, it just hit me for some reason. Warning....this will make NO sense unless you've read the first fic, Ice-Cold Roses. Oh, and as always, I own nothing. While I'm at it, though....I'd like to thank all my faithful reviewers for keeping my confidence up. You know who you are. ;)  
  
  
  
Weeks passed. Christmas was fast approaching, and nothing had changed between Hermione, Ron, and Harry. They would speak to her if necessary, but if she tried talking to them, all she received in response were haughty answers and disdainful looks. Especially from Ron. If he wasn't around, Harry might consent to talking to her, but with Ron, he grew silent. They had done nothing else related to the cruelty of the rose incident, but their coldness was enough to tear her apart.   
  
So she watched them, silently, hoping to somehow observe what was going on that had caused them to be so distant from her. If Professor McGonagall knew what went on in their lives simply by watching, surely it couldn't be that hard! In time, it was apparent that, while Harry still conversed with his old friends and acted almost the same as always, Ron had stopped talking to almost everyone. He was brooding, standoffish, unsociable. It was just so unlike him.....  
  
The week before Christmas vacation, Hermione decided it was time something was done about the situation. She approached Ron when he was alone in the common room, studying from his Potions book. Taking a deep breath, she sat down across from him. He glanced up momentarily, then went straight back to his book.  
  
Hesitating, she said quietly, "Ron? Can we talk?"  
  
The freckled boy shifted slightly in his chair. "Go ahead."  
  
_"Well, that's better than a 'get lost'...." _she thought wryly. "You haven't been acting like yourself lately, and I don't understand. I wish you would tell me what's wrong. Maybe I'm mistaken, but I don't think that all of this bitterness is simply because you're angry at me."   
  
Silence. Hermione waited, idly picking at one of her short fingernails. She had almost given up on getting an answer when Ron finally replied, "You're right. It's not."  
  
Breathing an almost inaudible sigh of relief, she kept her composure outwardly. "If it's not me...then what's really the matter?"  
  
Ron sighed, putting his book down and running his hand through his hair in a way that made Hermione think of his father. "Everything. I guess this has just been building up for a long time...._you _try growing up as the little brother in a family that can't afford the clothes we wear." he remarked bitterly. "All my life, I've _never_ been good enough. There's always been someone else ahead of me. And then you come along, and you're perfect in EVERYTHING.....I don't know. Maybe it just got to me after while. I'm always second best..."  
  
Slightly shocked, Hermione took a moment to digest this information. "But...I don't understand. If that's why you're angry at me....why didn't you get mad at Harry? I mean....he is the famous one....and why are you being so bitter towards everyone else?" she asked hesitantly. Ron sighed in response and shook his head.   
  
"Harry's on my level in a lot of things, though. Sure, I get jealous of him from time to time, but then he does something stupid and we're even again. With you....well, sometimes I can't ever catch you doing anything stupid, so I have to harp on you about it when you do." He paused, thinking about his next words. "And I guess I've stopped speaking to everyone else because...well...they like you, Hermione. I didn't think they'd want to talk to me."  
  
She began to nod slowly, somewhat understand where he was coming from. Hesitating again for a moment, she knelt down beside him, one hand covering his. "Ron...can't we just let things go back to normal? I'll promise to try and stop being so.....what's the word....."  
  
"Showoffish?" Ron supplied, grinning slightly. Hermione couldn't help but return the grin.  
  
"All right then, I'll try to stop being such a showoff. I know I can be a know-it-all at times, but it's not done on purpose. Forgive me?" she asked sincerely.  
  
"Of course. I'm sorry I was such a bloody ass to you in the first place." Ron replied, shaking his head ruefully. He withdrew his hand from under hers and held it out. "Friends?"  
  
She paused.....was friends all she really wanted to be? _"Better leave that for another day."_ a voice somewhere inside her said, so she shook his hand firmly, smiling. "Friends."  
  



	3. Fear of the Dance

_A/N: Okay, this is officially the crappiest part of this little trilogy I've ended up with. I only wrote it because a few people requested a sequel, and I figured I might as well write a conclusion to satisfy the readers. J.K. Rowling owns the characters._  
  
  
  
Christmas came and went. The laughter returned, and everything between the three friends returned to semi-normal again. Yet as the saying goes, the only thing that stays the same is that everything changes. Every day she spent with Ron, Hermione felt something in her heart grow stronger for him. She was afraid to put a name to it, or even acknowledge that the feeling was there. Still, she couldn't deny that it was growing....  
  
Time flew by, and soon spring was upon them. The Hogwarts grounds were covered in sweet, fresh green grass scattered with well-cared for flower patches, and the warm air was making people become more and more giddy. This newly born sense of life was torture for Argus Filch; boys brought flowers to their sweethearts, which would eventually get dropped in the halls, and dirt was being tracked in constantly.  
  
It was on one of those early spring days that found Ron and Hermione walking together outside, ambling towards the Quiddith Field to watch Harry practice. "Looks like it's going to rain...." Ron commented, his eyes on the sky. Before his companion could reply, he tripped over a root in the middle of the path and went sprawling, his long limbs splayed out comically. Hermione took one look at him and burst out laughing.  
  
He glared up at her. "Think it's funny, do you?" he asked, spitting dirt out of his mouth. She nodded helplessly in reply, still shaking with mirth. "All right then, you give it a go!" With that, he reached up and grabbed her leg, knocking her off-balance and dragging her onto the ground with him.  
  
"You...you..." Unable to come up with a suitable insult, she merely laughed again and shoved him in the arm. Grinning, he shoved back, and soon they were engaged in a mock-brawl, both of them laughing hysterically the entire time.  
  
"What's going on!?" a sharp voice demanded. Hermione and Ron both stopped and looked up, looking slightly guilty and very out of breath. Professor McGonagall stood before them, her hands resting on her hips. It was amazing how such a reedy-looking woman could be so formidable at times. "Well?" she asked, glaring down at them.  
  
Ron cleared his throat. "Well....uh....well, you see, Professor, I tripped and fell, and Hermione was just....helping me up." he said, grinning in what he hoped was a winning manner. His teacher didn't look very convinced.   
  
"You two had better stay out of trouble!" she said sternly. She studied them for a moment before turning to leave, and Hermione thought she saw a ghost of a smile flit across the older woman's face.   
  
"Well, that was easy enough." Ron remarked, standing up and brushing dirt off himself. "Oy....Mum'll kill me for these grass stains...." he groaned, examining a large green patch on his knee. Hermione frowned, slightly confused.   
  
"But there's a spell to take care of stains....it shouldn't be that hard to remove." she said slowly. Lately, she had been wary of voicing any sort of superior opinion, afraid to run the risk of sounding like a know-it-all. Ron nodded in response.  
  
"Yeah, there is. But I never will forget the time Ginny got grass stains all over the back of this little white dress she had.....Mum had to perform that spell seventeen times before they came out." he said, chuckling in spite of himself. Hermione laughed as well, but stopped when a large raindrop hit her squarely in the nose.  
  
"Well, you were right. Should we try to get back to the school, or go on up to the Quidditch Field?" she asked. Without warning, a clap of thunder crashed through the sky, followed almost immediatly by a blinding flash of lightning. Hermione whimpered slightly under her breath, and Ron frowned.   
  
"What's wrong? Come on, let's run down to Hagrid's." he suggested, already starting down the hill. He stopped when he realized Hermione wasn't following him. She remained stock-still as the rain began pouring in sheets all around her. Another roll of thunder came, and she closed her eyes tightly.   
  
"What's wrong?" Ron asked, jogging back to her side and trying to pull her in the direction of Hagrid's hut. Opening her eyes, she looked at him fearfully.  
  
"I...I'm afraid of storms." she whimpered, slightly ashamed. She expected him to laugh; instead, he nodded in understanding.   
  
"Ginny used to be. Then one time, we took her out in a thunderstorm, and we all danced in the rain. It made her laugh, and she started to dance with us, completely forgetting to be afraid." he said, then grabbed Hermione's hand. "C'mon. Dance with me, it's fun!"  
  
_"He's crazy. He has to be crazy."_ she thought. The thunder caused her to cringe again, and she took a deep breath, nodding in acceptance of his offer. _"What the heck, it's worth a try..."_  
  
Ron grinned and clasped both her hands in his, then began twirling around. Faster and faster they spun, the trees and rain blurring together in a greenish grey swirl. The only thing Hermione could focus clearly on was his face as he grinned comically, and she couldn't help but laugh.   
  
Without warning, he released his hold on her, and they were both thrown off-balance, still laughing. The grass on the hill was slick with rainwater, and Hermione lost her footing. She tumbled gently down the hill, still laughing. "Ron, come help me!" she shouted as she neared the bottom.   
  
He was halfway down the hill before he realized something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Hermione had reached the bottom, but she was just lying there, unmoving. Worried, he began to move faster, and that's when he noticed the dark red liquid pooling around her head. "Hermione!" he screamed, and slid the rest of the way to the bottom.  
  
"Oh, God." he said numbly, kneeling beside her. She had hit her head on a sharp rock, and there was a sickening gash on the side of her head, pouring with blood. Still numb with shock, Ron cradled her in his lap. "Hermione...say something....please...."  
  
Her eyes fluttered open. "Ron...." she whispered, the life draining out of her slowly. "Ron...I love you...."  
  
Tears sprung to his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. She couldn't see him cry, not now. "Don't say that now. You're going to be all right. We'll get Madam Pomfrey to fix that little cut up, and you'll be fine in no time." he replied, half choking on the words.   
  
Hermione smiled weakly. "I love you." she repeated in a barely audible murmur. Ron gulped back a sob and nodded.   
  
"I...I love you too, 'Mione."  
  
Another ghost of a smile rested on her rain-washed face. "I'm not afraid of storms anymore.....rain will make the flowers grow....." Her hazel eyes clouded over, and she fell limp in his arms.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
It was hours before they were found. Ron was still sitting there in the mud, holding the cold, drenched body in his arms when Professor McGonagall approached. The two empty spaces at the Gryffindor table had been noticed, and she had gone out to search for them. She stood, speechless, looking on in disbelief at what she saw. "Ron...what happened?" she cried out.  
  
Slowly, the redhead raised his eyes to look at his teacher. "She's not afraid anymore." he said simply. Not bothering to explain any futher, he stood, picking up Hermione's body as he did, and carried her back to Hogwarts.  



	4. Raining on Roses

A/N: Yes, I know I said I wouldn't write another part to the Ice-Cold Roses trilogy thing. Well, I lied. Not intentionally, but I did lie. Don't read this unless you've read Ice-Cold Roses, The Warmth Found in Tears, and Fear of the Dance. Oh, and I own nothing. J.K. Rowling owns the characters, I don't know who owns the rose quote.  
  
  
She was gone.   
  
Ron still couldn't believe it, wouldn't let it sink in. The funeral had taken place two weeks earlier, outside a Muggle church in the open spring air. The sky was a piercing shade of blue that day, and it made Ron angry. Why couldn't it have rained THEN? Why did the sun have to shine so innocently as they lowered her body into the damp ground? Where was the damned rain then?  
  
In fact, it hadn't rained since the day of her death. April showers had given way to May flowers, and Ron looked out the window of Gryffindor tower at an azure sky. It seemed to mock him and his grief, as did every sound of laughter he heard in the halls, every smile he saw. Not that there was a lot of rejoicing about anything around Ron lately. A lot of people knew Hermione, and although they were saddened by her death, they had their own lives to live. Out of respect for the grieving, most of them stifled their happiness whenever Ron came nearby, but it still slipped out every now and then.   
  
Every day was just a repeat of the last. Wake up, go to classes, eat when necessary, do homework, go to sleep. He had become a machine. Harry wasn't much better off emotionally, but he dealt with his remorse by diving headlong into everything. Quiddith, classes, anything he could find to occupy himself. He and Ron still hung out together, but they never talked about anything. Especially her.  
  
Ron idly let his eyes travel around the empty room. Everyone else was at the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match, but he had stayed behind. All her books were gone....he had grown so accustomed to seeing her books lying on one of the nearby tables.....  
  
But there was one left. The notebook. The small, worn, blue notebook that they had poured out all their thoughts in. Why hadn't he realized it was here before? Without really knowing what he was doing, Ron picked up the book and began leafing through it slowly, skimming over all the old notes, his vision slightly blurred. He stopped short at one particular page.  
  
The rose. He had almost forgotten all about it. The rose that she had drawn. That he had so angrily torn apart last fall. He stared numbly at the page, his eyes taking in each rent in the paper...each smudge of lead that his fingers had made....and tearstains. Her tearstains.   
  
Shutting his eyes, Ron let a tear of his own slip down his cheek, splashing onto the ripped paper. He sat there for several minutes like that, the book held in his lap. Finally, he opened his eyes and turned the page, expecting to find a blank sheet of paper.  
  
A picture met his eyes. It was the same rose, redrawn from the original ripped sketch. If the first drawing was once beautiful, this one was nothing short of sublime. It had been drawn over in ink, then carefully colored in with colored pencils, each petal perfectly shadowed. It looked so real, Ron though he could smell the sweet scent of roses floating up from the paper. Another tear leaked out of the corner of his eye, but he quickly moved the picture out of danger.   
  
He held it up before him, letting the golden sunlight shine onto the paper. At the very bottom of the page, words were scrawled in Hermione's neat handwriting.  
  
Memories give you the power to collect roses in the winter ~ 12/9/99  
  
She had finished this the day before they had rekindled their friendship. Was it really only a few short months ago that they had fought? Was it really only a few short weeks ago they had been dancing in the rain?   
  
A strangled sob escaped Ron's throat. He loved her. He had always loved her, and had just been too afraid to tell her. And now she was gone. He would never see her again. Never again could he tease her about being a bookworm, laugh with her about something stupid Malfoy had done, try to get her to let him copy her homework. He would never have another chance to tell her he loved her. Only that one moment in the rain.   
  
~*~*~  
  
Miles away in a Muggle cemetery, a wild rose bloomed as if by magic on a modest headstone marked with the name Hermione Granger.  
  



End file.
